


work order

by queerly_yours



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Embarrassment, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 12:19:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3767920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerly_yours/pseuds/queerly_yours
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dark blond hair a wet mop on the top of his head. It was longer than he really should wear it, curling around his ears and falling over the collar of any button down. Whiskey colored eyes looking sleepy and bloodshot with dark circles under them. He groaned at his reflection. He needed at least ten more hours of sleep.</p><p>He heard a knock at the door, probably the handyman, and dropped the towel to pull on a ratty, old Beacon Hills t-shirt and his favorite sweats. But when he opened the door, he regretted his choice of attire immediately. The man who greeted him was gorgeous. Just a bit taller than him, dark hair styled with perfect abandon, chiseled cheeks with a full beard that he itched to run his fingers through, and the most intense, indescribable eyes he’d ever seen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	work order

**Author's Note:**

  * For [punkhale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkhale/gifts).



> Based on [this](http://agentswan.tumblr.com/post/116582313757/agentswan-im-alone-waiting-for-the-dishwasher).

Stiles was exhausted. His flight was delayed. Well, beyond delayed. Twelve friggin hours. So, he was forced to take a red eye home from New York, a six hour flight that left at 12:15 am, which left him getting home around three in the morning plus a cab ride home. Scott said he would pick him up, but Stiles knew that he had an important exam and wanted to make sure that he got some sleep. He agreed with some hesitation.

Lydia looked after the apartment for him while he was gone, and he was grateful. But receiving a panicked call from her the day before that the dishwasher sounded possessed was why he didn’t normally let her look after the place. No one could, and she grudgingly volunteered. She took it upon herself to contact a local handyman to come take a look. Stiles received a call saying that they would be there the next morning between 8 and 9 am, and he was pleased.

He was pleased until his flight was delayed forever. Now it was an annoyance, but he would deal. At least it would be fixed right away.

When he stumbled into his apartment, it was half past four and his bleary eyes would barely stay open to make to the bed, which he face planted in first thing. Shoes, jacket, keys, and all. He woke up to the sound of his alarm thirty minutes before the handyman might be there. He sighed into his drool soaked pillow before rolling out of bed and walking to the bathroom, stripping on the way. He only tripped twice when he tried to take off his pants over his shoes.

He didn’t bother looking in the mirror before getting under the hot spray of the shower, already knowing that he looked like shit. The shower eased some of the tension from the busy weekend and washed away the smell of the airport and cab. He stayed until the water started to run cold, and getting out, he wrapped a clean towel around his torso. Then, wiping the condensation off of the mirror, he did take a look at himself.

Dark blond hair a wet mop on the top of his head. It was longer than he really should wear it, curling around his ears and falling over the collar of any button down. Whiskey colored eyes looking sleepy and bloodshot with dark circles under them. He groaned at his reflection. He needed at least ten more hours of sleep.

He heard a knock at the door, probably the handyman, and dropped the towel to pull on a ratty, old Beacon Hills t-shirt and his favorite sweats. But when he opened the door, he regretted his choice of attire immediately. The man who greeted him was gorgeous. Just a bit taller than him, dark hair styled with perfect abandon, chiseled cheeks with a full beard that he itched to run his fingers through, and the most intense, indescribable eyes he’d ever seen.

The man cleared his throat, and Stiles felt the heat rising to his cheeks. “Uh, hi. Hey. I’m Stiles. And you are?”

The man lifted the toolbox in his right hand and raised his eyebrows without uttering a single word.

“Oh-uh sorry-I…” Stiles trailed off, gesturing for him to come into his apartment with one hand while the other held firmly onto the door to keep his balance.

“I’m Stiles,” he said to the man’s back.

The man tilted his head to the side and looked back over his shoulder. “I know. You said that already. I’m Derek.”

 _God, even his voice is amazing_ , Stiles thought as he closed the door. He followed Derek into the kitchen and leaned on the counter to get a better look at his handyman. He set the toolbox on the floor and asked Stiles what exactly the issue was.

“I don’t exactly know. All Lydia said was that it sounded like a demon was coming out of the thing, and then I called you guys.” He shrugged, trying not to stare too hard at the lean lines of the man in front of him.

Derek nodded. “Where’s the breaker box?”

“It’s this way,” Stiles said as he led him into his bedroom, forgetting that his room was a disaster zone. His dirty clothes made a trail to the bathroom, luggage sprawled on the floor, his unkempt bed. He blushed for the second time, and reached down to pick up his clothes. “Uh-sorry, man. I didn’t get in til after four and I got, like, three hours of sleep. Red eye from New York.” He gestured at the wall. “There’s the power.”

Derek didn’t seem phased as he turned off the power in the kitchen and walked out of the bedroom to get to work.

Stiles put his dirty clothes into the hamper in the bathroom, and caught his reflection in the mirror. He sighed and leaned against the vanity. “Why is this my life?”

“Stiles?”

He startled and slipped on the rug, tumbling to the floor and catching his head on the vanity as he went down. He heard Derek’s footfalls as he lay there, completely mortified, holding his head and wishing that he were anywhere else – no, that this wasn’t his life.

“Am I dreaming?” he asked, looking up at Derek’s concerned eyes.

“No,” he responded gruffly. “Are you okay?”

Stiles’ groaned in response as Derek reached down to help him off the floor. His grip was solid, hands firm, pulling Stiles up with ease. Pulling him up so close that Stiles could see the adorable crow’s feet lining those beautiful eyes.

And as their eyes locked, time seemed to stop for a moment. Both of them searching each other. Derek to make sure that he was okay. And Stiles to try to figure out who this gorgeous man was.

Stiles’ phone rang in the kitchen, breaking them out of their trance, and he excused himself to grab it.

“Hey Lyds,” he greeted as he watched Derek return his back to work, leaning down to look inside the washer. He couldn’t help but check out the way that Derek’s pants hugged his ass.

 _Stiles, are you listening to me?_ Lydia asked.

“Yeah. Uh-sorry. What?” He asked, feeling color rise to his cheeks once again as Derek looked over his shoulder.

_I asked if Hale made it over to look at your demon problem._

“Uh, yeah, he’s here now. Thanks for letting me know. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

 _You bet your ass you will,_ she said, and hung up abruptly.

They had monthly dinners. Him, Lydia, Scott and Allison, Malia, Danny. All of them. Once school started, Lydia instituted them so that they would still see each other once in a while. It was harder now between school and work, so it was a good way to keep in touch. He and Scott saw each other every other day of course. That was easy though. They went to the same school, and Scott only lived about fifteen minutes away.

“Hale?” Stiles asked as he grabbed an ice pack from the freezer.

Derek stilled. “Yes.”

Stiles mulled that over for a second. “As in Malia Hale?”

He turned those confused eyes on Stiles. “Yes?”

“I’m friends with her,” he said, pressing the ice pack gingerly to the bump on his head, and Derek’s eyes widened. “I’m seeing her tonight actually.”

“Oh,” Derek replied, eyebrows knitting.

“No, no. Not like – I just mean. Look, me and my pack – that’s what we call each other – we get together once a month for dinner. That’s all. We’re not, like, dating or whatever. I mean, we tried –“ he broke off as Derek’s expression changed from confusion to recognition.

“You’re Stilinski.”

Stiles nodded, which sent a wave of dizziness through him. He leaned forward on the island, holding his head in his hands. “Man, I really hit my head hard.”

When he looked up, Derek was shaking with silent laughter.

“Are you…are you laughing at me?” Stiles asked, confusion lining his features.

Derek clutched his stomach, full out belly laughing now. “You’re the one she always talked about who kissed like a frog.” Now Stiles laid his head down on the counter, dropping the ice pack. “We used to call you Biles, and make fun of you when we were kids. Well, I was fourteen, but you know.”

“Oh my god,” he muttered into the countertop. “It was like one time, dude! We were ten! I know how to kiss now. I swear to god.” If he could have managed it, he would have banged his head on the counter.

He heard Derek walk towards his sprawled form. “Oh yeah?” he asked, towering over him, cocky expression filled his face, eye brow cocked, arms folded.

Stiles knew he face was bright red, but he nodded, looking up at Derek. “Yeah, man. Come on. That was like twelve years ago. Don’t be a dick.”

Derek reached down to pick up the abandoned ice pack and press it to Stiles’ head. He grimaced and put his hand up on the pack. Only, Derek’s hand was still there. They locked eyes again, and Derek pulled away slowly, but not before leaning down close to Stiles.

“I think you should prove it,” he whispered into Stiles ear, sending a shiver up Stiles' spine.

Stiles face went blank as he processed what Derek just said. He straightened up. “What?”

“I think,” Derek paused, looking down at Stiles full lips. “-that you-“ he leaned in so close that Stiles could feel his warm breath against his face. “-should prove it.”

Stiles didn’t normally kiss random people that were strangers mere minutes ago, but there was something about this Derek. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, and he closed the short distance between them to press a firm kiss to Derek’s warm lips. His breath caught and he felt a hunger rise in him as Derek opened his lips to lick into Stiles’ mouth with his clever tongue, backing him up against the fridge.

Stiles made a small, muffled sound as he hit it, and pressed a hand to Derek’s chest. Breathing heavily, he said, “I’m-I’m sorry, but I am so dizzy right now. I may pass out.”

Derek pressed their foreheads together, brilliant smile on his face. “Sorry,” he said, and leaned forward to kiss Stiles’ nose. “I forgot.” He reached back to grab the pack and press it to his head.

“So, um...I don’t know if this is really forward of me since you just had your tongue in my mouth, but would you like to get coffee sometime?”

Derek huffed out a laugh. “Definitely," he said and kissed Stiles' brow.

They broke apart moments later so that Derek could finish exorcising the demon from his dishwasher. When Derek left, they exchanged phone numbers, and the first text Stiles’ received was: _And for the record, you don’t kiss like a frog anymore._

Stiles smiled looking down at his phone, and said to himself, “This really is my life.”


End file.
